Rainbow's End
by sylphides
Summary: Three years after the events of "The Last Spy" and the final battle, catch a glimpse of Hermione and Severus' married life.


**Disclaimer: I possess little but a computer and my vivid imagination. **

**Warnings: Excessive fluff. I was feeling maudlin. Also, if you haven't read _The Last Spy…_well you can read and enjoy, but it won't make much sense because this takes place roughly three years after the end of the last chapter (but years before the epilogue). **

Prince Manor was quiet when she entered, having just finally delivered her manuscript for her very first book to the publishers. She had worked right up until the hour of the deadline, and hadn't seen Severus all day and Mippy the house-elf only when the diminutive little terror had forced her to eat something. Hermione frowned when Mippy did not appear seconds after her entrance. Usually, the exuberant little house-elf was a blur of motion, bouncing between her and Severus a mile a minute. Then she remembered—today was Tuesday, and Mippy's day off. He was probably visiting his friends at Hogwarts.

_And Severus is probably absorbed in brewing or the _International Journal of Healing_, _she thought affectionately, walking towards their quarters. She'd ignored him dreadfully the past few weeks as she'd turned into a hermit, editing, rewriting, and rearranging her very first full-length book deal. She'd published journal articles before, a few here and there, but this would be her first book. A book, not the memoir that everyone expected out of one of the heroes of the Dark Wars, but rather a study of the culture, use, and history of mind magics in the United Kingdom.

She wondered how many people would buy it for it's actual subject, as opposed to the author's name. She wondered if she should have insisted on a pen name rather than using her own, as the publishers had persuaded her to do. _Nothing to be done now, _she told herself, entering the room that she and Severus shared. _It's turned in and all I can do is wait. _

Severus wasn't there—nor, when she checked, was he in the Potions Lab. Puzzled but not worried, Hermione decided to take a bath first. Perhaps he had stepped out to visit someone, or gone back to St. Mungo's to discuss something with some of the Healers there. Severus becoming a private Healer-researcher had come as a surprise to almost everyone but Hermione. She knew his talent for it, and his desire to give back life to the world in which he had committed so much death.

It was only after she stepped out of the shower and was drying off her hair that she noticed the innocuous note, a sheet of paper, lying on her pillow. Its color had blended in with the linens. With curiosity, Hermione picked it up.

_6pm. The place where the man who's grown eats five dozen eggs. _

_- The Reaper_

The message was neatly typed on a typewriter, so no chance for a handwriting analysis. That wasn't to say she didn't know who had left it for her. There was only one person who would do so, after all. _Now to figure out why and what Severus is up to. _Hermione grinned, a familiar rush of excitement growing in her. She had severely neglected everything outside of her book in the past few months. Now, it came back to her, the adrenaline of this game of secrets, the unexpectedly playful side of her husband now that his particular set of skills were no longer in demand. She'd missed this!

_Now let's see…the place where the man who's grown eats five dozen eggs…_a café, perhaps? Severus always had eggs whenever they had breakfast out. Still, that seemed too easy, somehow. The line seemed almost like a quote, or a line from something familiar. Familiar? No, no, more like a paraphrase…Hermione frowned, and then jumped up from the bed. _If I'm right, Severus is taking us on a trip down memory lane indeed! _Hastily, she went downstairs, to where the TV somehow seemed to blend in with all the accruements of both Magical and Muggle life. It only took her a moment to locate the appropriate movie, speeding through the opening credits and the beginning until she stopped at the start of the song.

_Who does she think she is? _

_ That girl has tangled with the wrong man!_

As Hermione listened, her smile grew wider and wider. "Severus, you sneaky little bastard," she murmured affectionately. Pausing the movie but not bothering to put it away, Hermione rose and went upstairs. If she was going to play Severus' game, she would play it with a vengeance—clothes and all.

Half an hour later, just shy of six o'clock, a very different woman walked—no, _glided _into a disreputable dining establishment. The staff at Gaston's were well-used to a wide range of strange clientele, but every eye was fastened on the woman that made an entrance that would be in many men's fantasies that night. She was short, with curly brown hair, and many might have even said that her features seemed vaguely familiar, but the way she moved erased any sort of potential recognition. "Can I help you, ma'am?" The burly man at the door asked, clearing his throat almost diffidently—if that was possible for a six-foot giant of a man with multiple scars to show his profession.

"I'm looking for the Reaper," the woman said in a low, musical voice that seemed to carry throughout the entire room despite its soft tone.

"I can direct you to him," the bartender offered from behind the dingy bar, trying not to sound too eager.

"Stick to your own job," barked the guard at the door. He motioned towards another man in the shadows. "Jasper'll take you, ma'am."

The woman smiled sweetly up at the troll-like figure that lumbered out of the dark. "I'm sure he will," she purred, and tipped a slightly more knowing flirt of her eyes towards the disappointed bartender. "Lead on, Jasper."

At the third nondescript door, Jasper paused and motioned towards it. "In there," he grunted, and left without waiting. The woman straightened, and something sparked in her eyes.

At her knock, a gruff voice from behind the door said, "Of all the branches of magic, one of the least understood and most dangerous are the mind arts."

She laughed aloud. "Only you would quote something from my own book," she accused through the door. "'For one must, at all costs, know the innermost workings of one's own mind before attempting to penetrate the mists of another's, and the task of understanding is the work of a lifetime in itself.' Of course, I could have written a completely separate chapter on the impossibility of truly knowing your own mind inside and out, and how the truly smart person understands that the mind is fluid, a changing creature that can never be fully organized or read and thus, adjust for such when manipulating the mind, but _someone _told me I would be writing for a deaf audience."

"Which is nothing less than the truth," the voice on the other side of the door asserted dryly. "The concept is far out of the grasp of the majority of the world. Well, what are you waiting for, an invitation?"

"Perhaps," she answered, as the door swung open. He took in her appearance—the slight blurring of her features with a carefully applied Glamour spell, the mile-high heels, the forest-green silk robes—the artfully created and arranged robes that left her shoulders and neck quite bare and pooled around her like poetry and sex, abbreviated—scandalously so—right at the knee.

She smirked at the sudden blankness in his expression, even as her face morphed into a much more familiar and well-loved sight. "Two can play the game, Severus," Hermione reminded him smugly. It was worth the unfortunate need for heels, she thought, as he nearly yanked her inside, slamming the door behind her before pressing her up against it. His mouth descended, demanding and hot, and she kissed him back with the same intensity that a mere three years of marriage had not in the least tempered or tamed.

"Merlin, Hermione, I might have to gouge out the eyes of every man you met on the way in here and Obliviate them," Severus muttered against her skin, voice rough and low. "Not to mention a completely ineffective disguise, considering just how memorable you are."

"So, why are we here in a disreputable and disgusting Knockturn Alley establishment?" she asked, after a certain amount of a warm greeting.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Can't a man meet his wife to take her out to dinner without getting interrogated?"

"Not when you take us to the same place where a whole lot of repressed sexual tension happened," Hermione said with an eyebrow to match her husband. "Spill it, Snape."

"I simply thought we could celebrate your completion of your first book," Severus said evasively. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"You used to be better at lying than that, Severus Snape," she accused.

Was it the lighting, or was there the slightest color on Severus' cheeks? Before she could evaluate further, there was a knock. "Ma'am, time's up!"

"Ma'am?" Severus looked at her askance. "You must affected them even more than I thought, for that troll of a guard to call you _ma'am. _If I recall, at the height of our use of this particular location, the best we received was a less-than-polite order to 'get out' for the next paying customer._" _

"Just a little harmless fun," Hermione smirked, enjoying the highly ironic and heated gaze Severus bent on her. "I would have made Hestia proud."

Severus groaned. "I certainly _will _blind every man who has seen you in this outfit," he threatened darkly. "_Starting _with the beast outside the door."

"Speaking of beasts…I hadn't realized you absorbed anything from the movies we watched," Hermione teased as they resumed their disguises, Hermione admiring the finesse in which her man donned the attitude of a dangerous, shrouded figure with a menacing air about him. It felt oddly nostalgic to watch as he strode out the door, completely ignoring—and in the process intimidating—Jasper, the escort guard.

"That inane, ridiculous drivel you forced me to watch? Hardly," he dismissed with a scoff.

"You remembered enough to paraphrase Gaston's song from _Beauty and the Beast," _Hermione pointed out gleefully. "Admit it, Severus. You loved the Disney."

"Never," Severus said arrogantly. "Die Hard, now, that was an acceptable film. The antagonist actually displayed a moderate amount of brains. It is unfortunate of the director chose to elevate brawn over brains. The dunderhead who kept rushing into fights rather matched Potter in sheer idiocy."

"Just as the elegant and calculating style of Hans Gruber is almost a match to _you_," Hermione laughed, aware of the appreciative stares coming her way as they made their way through the disreputable patrons of the establishment—and Severus' formidable sweeping death stare reminding a number of them of the merits of minding their own business. _If he were any more intimidating, they would be quivering pools of fear. All this, of course, without losing track of our…ahem, discussion. _

"He did outwit McClane, if you recall," Severus shot back, satisfied when his threatening glowers and the proprietary hand on the small of Hermione's back succeeded in averting the gaze of Gaston's clientele and staff alike. He did not acknowledge the bulky man who held the door open for them, but he breathed a silent sigh of relief when they emerged into the sweltering night.

"Yes, he had an astonishing flair for playacting," Hermione said teasingly.

"Indeed." Severus quirked his lips fleetingly, and then offered his arm. "Shall we, _ma'am?" _

"Where to?" she asked, taking his arm.

"Hold tight," he answered, and in the next instant he had whirled them away.

She nearly pitched forward on the other end, and would have twisted an ankle or ended up on her nose on the cobblestone if he had not caught her as swiftly as he did. "Severus, you, you…"

"Yes, dear?" he intoned blandly, helping her back onto her feet.

"Lank-limbed stork of a hag!"

"That's a new one," he observed neutrally, steadying her as she recovered and looked around her for the first time. "Look familiar?"

Hermione took in the close confines of the deserted alleyway they had Apparated to, the glow of lights and the sound of music and voices just steps away. "Ashton Lane," she breathed. "Severus, you unbelievable romantic!"

"Who said anything about romance? I simply haven't eaten at this restaurant I happen to frequent since almost four years ago," Severus said haughtily. He actually looked offended. _Marvelous acting abilities and a flair for the dramatic—no wonder he identifies with Hans Gruber! _Hermione held back a smile.

"Four years…Merlin, has it really been that long?" She closed her eyes, thought back. "Why, Severus, it was right around this time four years ago that I first became your handler!" _That was the summer after Dumbledore…died, and you were so certain that no one could wish to interact with you, let alone desire a friendship with you._

"Today is the day when you offered your friendship to me, and I was astute enough to accept it," Severus said quietly, all pretenses and humor gone now. His eyes were piercing and solemn. They were still carefully veiled—a few mere years were not enough to break a lifetime of concealing emotions, but just his admittance, in the middle of the street no less, and the raw honesty just behind the mask of control was completely unexpected. That he felt safe enough, and confident enough to risk it at all, saying it out loud, was more than volumes of 'I love you's' and snuggling that Harry and Ginny engaged in on a regular basis. _This _was love, and real, and it was Severus.

"Oh, Severus," Hermione breathed. She tucked her hand into his, looking up at him, knowing that her own public mask was quite gone, and that no doubt Severus was reading every emotion and thought in her eyes. _Blasted man is still taller than me even with the heels! _"It was the smartest offer of my life, I think."

"And the best I have ever accepted," he replied.

Leaning up, Hermione placed a soft kiss on her beloved's cheek. Then, with all the perception of those four years of friendship—and more—she backed off, and her smile became cheeky. Without warning his clothing changed on him.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, torn between relief at not being forced to dig deeper into the emotions he rarely displayed even to her, and indignation at her presumptuousness. Then he got a better look at what he was now wearing. "This will never do," he said silkily, and the shirt changed color—from the Gryffindor red to an undeniable Slytherin green. Hermione laughed.

"If I recall, last time it was you who changed my clothes without so much as a by-your-leave," she reminded him. "Come on, Severus, you look good in the red! There isn't anyone you know here who will see you except for me and a bunch of tourists you'll never see again and are too wrapped up in their own selves to notice what color you're wearing anyway."

Clad in an echo of what she had dressed him in years ago, the tight jeans and leather jacket, Severus glared severely down at her. "No red," he stated firmly. That was her only warning before her own robes shifted on her. They didn't change much—after all, the robes had been almost as revealing as the dress she wore now was. She eyed him.

"I still hate heels."

"The heels stay," he said definitively, with a dangerous glitter in his eyes as he looked briefly down at her feet, framed in a multitude of black straps and a sharp silhouette.

"Only if you wear the red," she bargained.

"No."

"Then I'm wearing slippers."

He grabbed her hand as she went for her wand. "Now, now, that's no way to respect a beautifully put-together outfit," he whispered against her ear. "If you keep the shoes on, I will be more than happy to accommodate your unconscionable color choices…later tonight."

Her knees were watery, and only half-due to the blasted high heels. "Damn you, Severus," she muttered. He looked triumphant, knowing he had won. "That's playing dirty."

"There must always be one to perform the dirty jobs," he said with a hint of a smirk at the double entendre.

"Lecher," she denounced, but her actions belied her tone, as she slipped her arm through his for support over the rough cobblestone.

Ashton Lane was more crowded than she remembered, though the last time they'd been here, the weather had been cold and the night late, which might account for it. There were tourists everywhere, gabbing and gawking, and a burst of brash chatter drew Hermione's attention, for a minute, to a group of adolescents milling in the street. Severus caught her eye and grimaced. She patted his hand. "At least you're not teaching them anymore," she consoled, with a half-wince herself as the volume increased.

"Thank Merlin," he groused. "A more self-absorbed, hormone-driven, puffed up age group I have never met."

"Why Severus, I didn't know you cared so much for me when I was in school," Hermione said cheerfully as he guided them carefully around the youngsters—and _god, _she felt old thinking of sixteen and seventeen year olds as _youngsters. _

"You were an exception to the rule," he said dryly. "Your friends, unfortunately, were not."

She swatted at him even as she agreed. "Well, they both grew out of it, at least," she remarked.

"Who says they did?"

The last had been muttered, almost inaudible, but Hermione caught it and this time the swat was harder. "Severus," she reprimanded. "Be nice." Then she rethought her choice of words. "Be somewhat polite," she amended.

He smirked down at her as they arrived at the door of a softly lit restaurant, and a hostess welcomed them in and asked them if it would be a party of two. "When am I not? No, don't answer that. It was rhetorical," he added when she opened her mouth.

It was her turn to smile smugly at him as they were seated in a private corner of the restaurant. There was live music tonight—a boy who looked as if he were barely out of school, crooning something about the way you look tonight, and a dark-haired girl bent lovingly over a battered piano, giving the tune to his song. After placing their orders, Hermione leaned back and watched them for a moment, smiling unconsciously in enjoyment of the music.

In the rare moment when Hermione's attention was thoroughly distracted, Severus was watching _her. _All her focus was on the little duo on the little stage off to their right, and he was able to drink in the sight of her without her noticing. She was beautiful always, but tonight, with dreams the music had painted in her soft brown eyes and the curls of her hair framing her face and her slender neck and shoulders, she quite stole his breath. On her finger, the simplest of bands, thin and silver, and the most modest of diamonds in the shape of a tear proclaimed to the world that she had trusted him—_him, _Severus Snape!—with her heart.

He caught his breath in silent awe as her lips curved upwards. "Oh, I love this song," she exclaimed in a low voice as the singer and pianist exchanged a look and launched into a different song. She shrugged ruefully, eyes still on the stage. "My father was addicted to jazz. I remember when I was child, some nights he would put on some Louis Armstrong or Duke Ellington and dance with my mother and with me. It always took quite some persuading to lure my mother away from her books, though I think at least half of it was for show, more of a tradition of playing hard to get." She smiled mistily at the memory.

"Dance with me," Severus said, impulsively.

Now her eyes finally shot back to him, shocked and wide. "What?"

He hadn't meant to say it aloud, not here in public, but his pride would not let him back down and a sudden surge of recklessness overcame his general dislike of displaying such personal emotions to onlookers. He wanted to give Hermione the dreams in her eyes, damnit. "Dance with me, Hermione," he repeated. He rose gracefully, and offered his hand. Hesitantly, with a question in her eyes, she stood, and placed her hand in his.

He led her to the open area before the stage, pointedly ignoring the curious eyes that began to collect on their backs. He held her gently, as if she were glass, and before the gaze of multiple tourists, wait staff, and the especially large eyes of the singer and pianist, Severus danced with his wife on the anniversary of their relationship—the anniversary of the day he had given in to the best thing that had ever happened to him, and allowed Hermione the initial step past his defenses.

He might not ever tell her in words, but the day in which she had yelled at him for assuming that she hated him and what he had done to—for—Albus and in the same breath, told him how much she respected him and offered her friendship had been the true turning point of his entire life. Perhaps even more so than the day he had acknowledged that he had fallen in love with her, or the day she had beat it into his head that she loved him back and would not take no for an answer. For all her heart, Hermione would not understand how much she had utterly paralyzed him with shock simply by asking him to be friends with her. He had not been asked, even by Albus, even by Lily, for his friendship. Both Albus and Lily had assumed that as long as they considered him their friend, Severus would of course consider them his. He had not begrudged Lily for it, because it had been true and no matter how flawed later on, her friendship had given him precious moments of true childhood.

But this chit of a girl, who had on this day four years ago tartly reminded him that she was no longer his student and no longer a child, but a peer and adult, had asked him for his friendship. She had _offered _it as a choice, a gift he could accept, and there was not a day that went by that Severus did not wonder why she had done so—and acknowledge his debt to her for it, though she would no doubt protest passionately at him owing her anything if she knew it.

_We're after the same rainbow's end_

_ Waiting round the bend_

_ My huckleberry friend_

_ Moon river and me._

At the end of their meal, when Severus called for the check to be brought to them, the tall, blonde-haired waitress brought out two little glass dishes of gelato and whipped cream instead. "What's this?" Severus asked. "We did not order any dessert."

"On the house, sir, ma'am," the girl said with a genuinely sweet, if slightly bedazzled, smile. "We—all of us—just wanted to say…well…" she glanced back at where a conspicuous clump of several uniform-clad wait staff hovered, just within hearing range, and seemed to draw strength from their proximity. "Well, it's a rare thing we see nowadays, the kind of love that's between the two of you," she said in a straightforward fashion. "If someone would look at me the way you look at her, one day…" she sighed, dreamily. "We just wanted to tell you that it's been the highlight of this evening—and of the year, really—seeing the two of you with each other. Please, enjoy your dessert. It's the season special." She blushed, and abruptly hurried away, rejoining the gaggle of waiters and waitresses who hastily retreated, throwing glances back at the table where Hermione and Severus sat.

"Well!" Hermione blinked. "That was unexpected."

"Romantic fools," Severus grumbled, his tone dark. Still, he picked up a spoon. "I suppose it wouldn't do to test the dessert for poison," he mused, scrutinizing the confection.

"Severus!"

"Old habits." He dipped his spoon into the gelato, tasted. "Lemon, I think…though with a hint of something stronger." He contemplated the bowl. "Limoncello," he decided, and tried hers as well. It would never do not to make sure his wife's dessert was clean of poison. Not to mention it put that wicked little flicker in her eyes. "I do not detect any poison, so you may partake, I suppose."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him, and dug her spoon into the gelato. "You're right, it's…stronger than lemon," she said thoughtfully after the first few bites. "It's good. The whipped cream is just sweet enough to take off the edge of the lemon." Her smile turned the slightest bit arch, and he braced himself for the payback for his impromptu poison taste test. He didn't have to wait long. "I always knew you were a romantic at heart, Severus. Now even the wait staff can tell just how squishy-soft of a marshmallow you are. Just a big teddy-bear, really." She winked at him cheekily.

"Woman, if you continue in this manner you will soon find to your detriment just how far from romantic I can be," Severus growled.

She examined him and sat back, spooning the last bit of her gelato into her mouth and making a production of licking the spoon clean. "I don't know, Severus, that dance came across very smooth, very charming. I'm sure all the women here just melted with how_ adorable_ a sight we must have appeared."

His eyes sparked and glittered dangerously, and Hermione felt a thrum of excitement heat up within her. "I'm going to go tell the musicians what a fine job they did," she said, deliberately letting him glimpse a hint of her thigh as she uncrossed her legs and stood up. "Why don't you get the bill like the gentleman you are, and I'll be right back." She started off, well-aware of his eyes boring into her back as she walked away. The young man was taking a break while his pianist showed off her light fingers and skill with the keys, and he came down from the stage quite promptly when she motioned to him. "What's your name?" she asked, keeping her voice low and melodic.

"Barry, ma'am," he said awkwardly, shuffling from foot to foot.

"Well, Barry, I am certainly a fan of your singing," she said. "You have a very poetic, beautiful voice."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said quietly, eyes wide. "That means—a lot."

"Keep singing the way you have, Barry, and gather up your courage and ask your pianist out on a date," Hermione advised, and was glad to have the experience she did in keeping her face straight at the expression on the boy's face. _I'm glad to see I haven't lost the touch of reading people, _she thought wryly. "She won't say no, I promise," Hermione added, and if possible the boy flushed an even deeper red.

"She's…she's far out of my league, ma'am," he stuttered, jolted into admitting the truth.

"Nonsense." Hermione examined him with a critical eye. "You are just right for her. There's no such thing as levels or leagues, Barry. Each person is unique, and thus, cannot be compared to the next or ranked by _league. _Trust me, she's been watching you all night. Make the move." She paused, felt Severus coming up silently behind her. "He thought the same thing," she told Barry. "I had to drag him kicking and screaming out of his cave of self-pity. Be smarter. Ask first, before she has to do the same to you."

She felt his arms come around her, possessively, and smiled. "It'll go a lot faster that way, and save you and her a lot of tedium and angst," she said in a louder voice.

"Meddlesome harpy," Severus said derisively, and she jabbed him, grinning all the while.

"Arrogant ass."

"I believe, madam, that you issued a challenge to me earlier. It behooves me to prove to you that I am most certainly the farthest thing from _romantic _in the world," he informed her darkly, and aimed a dismissive glance at Barry over Hermione's head. "Once you have the girl, make certain she knows exactly what you will and will not tolerate," he advised, and cut off Hermione's indignant retort by smoothly moving her towards the door.

"Chauvinistic pig," she mumbled as the heat of summer slapped them in the face.

"And thoroughly unromantic," he confirmed with a black chuckle, guiding them towards the alleyway from which they had arrived. When she stumbled for the fifth time, he snorted in impatience and in the next instant, had picked her up and was striding towards the entrance to the deserted alleyway.

"Severus!"

"Twisting an ankle or breaking your silly neck is not part of the agenda tonight," he informed her.

"_You _were the one who wanted me in heels," she countered, putting her arms around his neck.

"One would think you would have learned to walk on them by now."

"Not on rough cobblestone!"

"Excuses. Not satisfactory."

"Codger."

"Cow."

"Pillock."

"Trollop." Right after he had said it, he Apparated. Before she could continue the battle of insults, he shut her up once more with his own mouth.

That didn't stop her from getting in the last word, however.

"Deny it all you want, Severus," she gasped as clothing dropped off their bodies. "Deep down inside, there's a big teddy-bear of romance in you."

"Shut up and kiss me, woman."

"Whatever you say, Severus."

And then there were no more words.

There were, however, plenty of words exchanged the next day when Severus woke to find Hermione gone and, sitting in a chair facing him, a fluffy teddy bear with a red bow around its neck clutching a stuffed heart.

**A.N.: **_Happy Halloween! Not quite a Halloween-ish tale, but oh well. To any readers who have wondered at my long absence, I am so sorry. I could make excuses and say starting a new job in a new country got in the way, but honestly, I've had very little motivation to write for a while, and only now am I trying to remember how to use my writing muscles again. I can't say I won't vanish again, but I do intend to keep writing._

**Notes: **

"_the man who's grown eats five dozen eggs" is a paraphrase from the song "Gaston", from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. The note Severus leaves is signed by the "Reaper", in deference to the code-name he used at the very same establishment in chapter 59 of Last Spy. _

_The reference to the movie Die Hard is a salute to Alan Rickman, who plays smooth villain Hans Gruber, and the scene referred to is where Gruber, taken by surprise and without a weapon by the protagonist McClane, fools McClane into believing that he is a hostage and not the evil mastermind of the hostage situation. _

_The song Severus and Hermione dance to is "Moon River", which was a cover by Louis Armstrong, the late wonderful Andy Williams, and many other artists. _


End file.
